


Buffalo

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ficlet, M/M, Sacrifice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:47:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29834166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Noctis gets a feisty one.
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia/Noctis Lucis Caelum
Comments: 13
Kudos: 53





	Buffalo

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

It gets to a point where Noctis isn’t just _annoyed_ with the constant string of sacrifices; he’s downright _tired_ of it. It feels like its been ages, eons, more than mortal comprehension, and yet, every five or ten or, at the most, twenty years, a herd of robed figures march an innocent young man right up into his Citadel and drop them on his doorstep, leaving them bound and beaten before his throne like baby daemons ready for slaughter. 

Noctis liked to consider himself a fairly normal person before the fall of Insomnia. Sure, he was isolated, a little immature, a prince nowhere near ready to become _king_ , but when the Empire’s cursed weapons clashed with the crystal and crushed the city in one swoop, Noctis only got worse. Sad, bitter. But not _evil_. He doesn’t need to cut humans open to keep the eternal darkness over his city from spreading across all Eos. He doesn’t keep it at bay _at all_. He has no idea why he’s trapped in the ruins of his home, sometimes as a wisp of spirit and others the figure of his old self, or why the growing settlements outside treat him like an Astral. He’s not the Seventh one. And devouring human flesh won’t change that. 

Nevertheless, they bring him another, traipsing through his streets and through the towering gates, right into the depths of his throne room. It could be just his imagination, but he feels as though the priests aren’t as careful as they used to be. They used to be more ceremonious and pious. The used to bring him _docile_ pets.

When he comes into being atop his throne and looks down at his newest toy, he’s struck by the sheer _intensity_ of the kneeling man, and for a split second, Noctis’ pulse actually picks up, racing with long forgotten _excitement._

He rises from his throne, cloak trailing along the armrests, falling in behind him as he strolls forward. He comes down the spiral side, one step at a time, even though he could warp straight to the bottom if he wished. He’s making the moment last, taking in his prey. The man before him isn’t like the others. The man is _massive._

He’s more muscular than Noctis’ ancient glaives, and certainly dressed less—dark pants cup his folded legs, while nothing obscures his top: his entire chiseled chest is on display, intricately painted in an impressive tattoo—an eagle with spread wings. The dark ink stands out brilliantly against his sun-kissed skin. His dark hair is shaved at the sides but full at the back, messy and shameless, falling down to his broad shoulders like reins just waiting to be pulled. His face is every bit as handsomely carved as the rest of him. In short, he’s _gorgeous._

He’s a total beefcake, and better yet, he’s _struggling._ They never struggle. They squirm, they whine, they cry and beg for mercy, but they never actually tug at their bonds. Usually, their wrists are bound behind their back. This one has rope right down to his legs, forcing his feet to his ass, his thighs to his ankles, his hands stuck between them. His escorts must’ve pushed him down and tied him in place. Evidently, he needs it.

He only stops his useless efforts when Noctis is right in front of him, and then he looks boldly up, unafraid. Noctis is _very _intrigued.__

__Usually, it doesn’t matter. Noctis just sends his sacrifices to the other side of the city, where their former settlement will never know, and they can go live out long lives for all he cares. He has no need for them. This one stirs things in him, desires that haven’t troubled him in centuries. He tries to stamp them down. He stands in front of the man and asks as levelly as he can, “What’s your name?”_ _

__He half expects no answer and for the man to spit at his feet. But the man proudly says, “Gladiolus Amicitia, _Your Highness_ ,” and the title sounds half begrudgingly respectful, half mocking. An interesting mix. Noctis vaguely recognizes the family name and figures this Gladiolus is high-born. Funny he’d be chosen then. _ _

__Even though Noctis really wants to drag this feral beast up to his throne and ride it all day, he makes himself behave. Or at least, he tries to. He means to offer freedom but instead asks, “If I cut you loose, will you run?”_ _

__With legs like that, Gladiolus could probably bolt faster than a behemoth. But he snorts, “I’m not a coward.” Noctis frowns. Gladiolus does too, maybe waiting for a response. When one doesn’t come, he slowly adds, “If you cut me loose, I’ll fight.”_ _

__He’s probably used to winning fights. Given Noctis’ magical prowess, he’d probably win. But he’s more likely to just warp away and go have a nap. Or jerk off. Which normally isn’t in the lexicon, but this Gladiolus... even the grime on his body makes Noctis just want to lick the sweat off his pecs. He stares determinedly up at Noctis, breathing hard and reeking of pure _man_. _ _

__Noctis finally gets out, “Fight for what?” He can barely even remember what they were talking about. It’s times like this that Noctis is particularly sad his city’s gone—in the old days, this Gladiolus would’ve made a perfect shield, and an ever more perfect side-piece or even main squeeze._ _

__Gladiolus looks at Noctis strangely and answers, “Well... I meant for my life... but... I’m starting to think it’d just be for dominance.”_ _

__Noctis is down with that. He’s no fighter himself. He’s actually pretty lazy. He’d be perfectly happy to have someone else do the work—throw him over the council table or against the crumbling wall and fuck the dead memories away. A part of him knows he’s courting danger—Gladiolus’ energy has only grown more intense, but more intoxicating, and Noctis can’t help himself._ _

__He leans forward and touches one bulging bicep, letting his fire slither quickly down Gladiolus’ back, too fast to burn, just hot enough to sizzles the ropes apart and turn it all to ash._ _

__Gladiolus springs free as soon as he can, lunging at Noctis like a coeurl in heat, knocking him straight to the floor. The wind leaves Noctis’ lungs, and as an immortal, he could withstand that—he could warp to safety and spare himself the weight of Gladiolus’ massive thighs._ _

__But he’s hungry for a sacrifice worth keeping, and he only opens his mouth for Gladiolus’ searching tongue, delighted to choke on it. Maybe it is good to be an Astral._ _


End file.
